


imagine being loved by me

by shadesofwrong



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Haylor, Pining, Time Skips, With fluff at the end, drunk harry!!, just 11k of angst, oh how I miss them, so much pining, with a bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-04 06:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18337775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofwrong/pseuds/shadesofwrong
Summary: harry and taylor can never work things out.this time they just might.





	imagine being loved by me

**Author's Note:**

> okay. i know it’s 2019. I KNOW.  
> but for some reason this fic came to me in full on a wednesday afternoon and i wrote it in about three days. 
> 
> its basically the most overdone haylor fic ever but i figure the ship is so dead anyway so it doesnt matter. 
> 
> this is a future fic with regard to future albums and people that dont exist (yet) so just remember that!! its a work of fiction for a reason.  
> and yes im basically putting this out into the world and hoping that it'll allll come true. (it wont. but its fun to imagine)
> 
> anyway hope you guys enjoy, please leave comments (nice ones - im sensitive)  
> and pls dont repost anywhere else w/o my permission. thanks. 
> 
> bye !
> 
> (lowercase intended, title from talk by hozier)

harry’s only just got his foot half in the door when he see’s her. and it sucks the air from his lungs for just a brief moment. she’s not facing him. but he knows it’s her the second he lays his eyes on her bare back.

he _knows_ that back.  
he’s drawn circles onto that back in the middle of the night with his index finger, at least fifty times before.

he debates turning and walking out because he doesn’t really need to be here. he only came for niall. he could be at home right now, away from this. but niall wanted him here, and harry wanted to be here too.

‘what?’ jeff asks, and harry wonders how long he’s been standing there. just staring. it couldn’t be more than a minute.

‘nothing.’

it is nothing. this is nothing.  
harry’s seen her since they broke up, a million years ago now. they’re friendly, like always. she sent him flowers when his first album came out, three years ago now, and he went and saw "cats". he’s also watched her carpool karaoke with james a few times now. there’s no hostility between them. none whatsoever.

shit. he even saw her last year, when he hosted the met ball. they took a photo together, the dark blue of taylor’s large versace dress digging into his hip, his gucci cape draped over the floor behind them. it tripped one of the kardashian’s later on in the night.

it was a friendly photo, that blew up on twitter very quickly. they were both grinning, but there was a definite, heavy awkwardness floating around them, and they only spoke once more that night. a simple, _“nice to see you”_ from him, and a _“yeah, you too,”_ from her.

harry follow’s jeff through the crowd, purposely keeping his head down as he walks past where she’s talking to someone. if she see’s him, she pretends she doesn’t.

‘you saw her?’ jeff asks and harry clears his throat, when they’re quite a bit away from her. ‘course jeff noticed.

‘she’s hard to miss.’

the thing is, people still talk about them.  
friends, fans, the media. people still want to know what’s going on between harry and taylor.  
and it’s been fucking years. so harry assumes it’s okay to still feel nervous around her, to still think of her as somebody he shouldn’t, on occasion.

‘did you know she was going to be here?’ jeff asks.

harry shakes his head.

‘’s okay,’ he shrugs, ‘we’re friends.’

jeff know’s it’s a lie, but he doesn’t react.  
harry and taylor are never going to be able to be friends.

‘you know she’s not with her boyfriend anymore,’ jeff mutters, and yes, harry knows.

of course he knows. ed told him before it’d even hit the media, and harry couldn’t bring himself to ask why. that was back in october of last year, and he waited a month for it to finally be a story, and according to people magazine, the boyfriend couldn’t deal with the stress of the spotlight, and despite taylor’s heartbreak, they broke up amicably.

no one was more shocked than he was. really.

niall’s standing near the bar talking to some bloke when harry approaches, jeff slapping him on the back before harry could get a word in.

‘harry,’ niall beams and hugs him close. harry can smell the gin on him already, ‘thanks for coming.’

harry’s the only one here out of all the boys. liam’s on tour with some rapper, and louis’ in florida with freddie and eleanor — disneyworld.  
nobody expected zayn to show up. even niall, though he still sent the invite.

‘where’s the lucky girl?’ harry asks, referring to polly — niall’s fiancé as of four days ago. this is their engagement party, in a restaurant/bar, hidden somewhere in la. harry’s been here a few times. he’s taken kendall here before, actually.

‘dunno. she’s got her friends here so she’s probably catching up. how are you, mate? look how long your hair is again.’

it’s the same length it was when the band went on hiatus. little nicer than before though. bit more healthy.

‘’m good,’ harry nods, trying not to think about his ex not far behind him, ‘you didn’t mention taylor would be here.’

her name sounds weird coming from his mouth. he hasn’t said it in so long now. he hasn’t needed to, which is even weirder.

‘hm? _oh_ ,’ niall looks sheepish, and harry hear’s jeff laugh, sitting down atop a barstool like he’s about to watch a show, ‘i forgot to mention her.’

‘forgot?’ harry grins, and he doesn’t want it to seem like a big deal. because it's not.

‘it’s alright, yeah?’ niall asks, ‘you two get along.’

‘sure.’

‘good, because she’s headed right this way.’

‘what?’ harry asks, quickly followed by a quiet _“shit”_ under his breath, and he turns to see her walking over.

he gets a front on view of her body in that dress, and man, she’s no longer that little twenty-three year old anymore. she’s all hips and healthy curves, and the dress does them justice.  
it’s armani, harry thinks, made from thin black silk, with teeny-tiny straps over her shoulders, connecting the top of the dress to the back.  
it’s simple, but definitely elegant enough for an engagement party. she never would’ve worn it five years ago. she’s grown into herself so much. harry wonders if he’s grown into himself, too.

‘harry,’ she beams, and brings him into a classic taylor hug. it’s friendlier than the one she gave him last year at the met. it’s warmer and more familiar. harry reckons her being newly single has something to do with it.

‘you look great,’ taylor says, looking him up and down. harry can feel niall smiling from behind him. jeff too.

‘you too,’ harry replies, eyeing the slight shimmer of her clavicle. she’s so on show tonight. exposed collarbones and back. and her tits look fucking phenomenal, harry doesn’t even think she’s got tape on. they just look like that. like he said, she was hard to miss, especially looking like that.

‘having fun?’ taylor says, hands clasped together and she’s looking at niall, harry moves out the way so he can join in on the conversation.

‘absolutely,’ niall chuckles, ‘you seen polly?’

‘with your mom.’

niall breaks into a proud little smile and harry finds himself grinning too. niall deserves this, more than anyone he knows. except maybe one.

‘i better go find martha,’ taylor sighs, ‘you guys have fun.’ she touches harry’s arm softly, smiling at jeff and then she’s gone. harry’s stomach feels heavy when he realises she barely looked at him.

‘sorry,’ niall apologises, because he understands now. he understands why taylor being here may still suck for harry.

harry can only shrug.

//

he shouldn’t care. he shouldn’t. he accepted a long time ago that bumping into taylor swift at events like this was inevitable. but there’s a part of him that still looks at her the way his eighteen year old self did, and sometimes it’s really shit.

maybe it’s because he just didn’t expect to see her at his former band mates engagement party.  
he means... it’s not really her place to be here, is it?  
he knows they’re friends, niall and taylor. he knows they’ve done a song together to go on niall’s next album, and he knows niall’s always been a big fan and taylor’s always liked him too, but why does she have to be here? niall was his friend first, and he’s spent a lot more time with niall. niall should always pick harry over her.

harry’s had a few too many drinks nearing the end of the night, and he’s getting a bit sulky.  
not because of taylor... well not _just_ , but because evangeline isn’t replying to his texts. he’s sat upstairs on one of the black leather lounges by himself, the party carrying on downstairs.

his phone feels heavy in his hands as he watches the screen for any notifications. but there’s nothing, at least not from ev.  
he knows she’s in la, and he knows she’s reading his messages, but she’s ignoring him because he’s drunk. harry knows. but he can’t stop his thumbs from tapping across the screen, typing out messages he doesn’t really want sent.

‘hey, trouble,’ harry hears, seconds before he’s about to send another regrettable message, and he lifts his head to see taylor. she’s let her hair down, it was up at the beginning of the night and now it’s wavy down her back, her fringe pushed to the side. harry feels himself swallow hard, his throat feeling tighter.

‘hi.’

she manoeuvres around the small table in front of harry’s feet and sits down on the couch beside him, a nice amount of distance between them. harry reckons if he moved an inch over though, he could feel her body heat radiating off her.

‘what’re you doing up here alone?’

‘um...’ harry thinks, ‘just needed a minute.’

taylor’s watching him like she’s expecting him to suddenly burst into tears, and harry clears his throat, wanting this to feel better than it does.

‘you look really, really good,’ harry says, looking her dead in the eye and trying so hard not to glance at her tits, or thighs or calves. the slit in her dress is open as she sits crossed-legged, and it’s very distracting.

‘not really me though, is it?’ taylor mutters, a coy smiling playing in the corner of her mouth. harry rubs his jaw.

‘you’ve grown up, is all.’

‘thirty,’ taylor nods, almost sadly. she turns her body away from him and leans back into the couch. harry does the same. his head is spinning a bit from the alcohol, but he thinks it could be from being in the same proximity as taylor.

they’re quiet for a minute, and harry thinks how odd it must look, just the two of them; sat on the couch, older versions of the people they once were.

‘i heard about you and...’ harry trails off, because taylor immediately frowns, and harry doesn’t really want to say his name, anyway. he doesn’t know why he even brought it up. he just wanted to fill the silence, he knows he could’ve thought of something better.

‘i’m sorry,’ he mumbles and it’s not great, but it’s enough. he shakes his head stupidly, wanting to bury himself in the cushions of the couch.

taylor just shrugs, pushing hair behind her ear and turning her head to look at him, ‘things happen. it’s okay. are you seeing anyone?’

‘sort of.’

taylor nods, chewing her lip. harry’s almost always “sort of” seeing someone. he's sure it doesn’t surprise her.

there’s that silence again, and harry wonders what else he can bring up to make them uncomfortable; maybe he can talk about the time they had sex in ed’s car and harry came on the leather seats. maybe he can mention the 2015 billboard awards, and how he felt like hitting himself over the head with that stupid gold dildo looking award when calvin harris wouldn’t stop touching her arse in front of him.

harry keeps his mouth shut.

his phone suddenly flashes with a new message, and he snatches it up, his eyes blearily reading through ev’s message.

 _harry, ur drunk._  
_please don’t msg me until ur sober._  
_hope ur having fun_.

harry sighs loudly, locking his phone and shoving it into his pants. she’s mad and now harry’s even more upset.

‘that her?’ taylor asks after a beat, and harry wants to tell her to mind her own business. but that’s so fucking rude, and harry would never intentionally be that rude to taylor.

‘yeah.’

‘want to talk about it?’

_not with you._

‘no, thanks.’

taylor scratches her knee, and stands up, smoothing out her dress, ‘come with me?’ she asks, towering over harry as he sits with his knees apart.

he wants to ask where, but he doesn’t, instead he stands; willing to follow her wherever she wants to go. at least for a little while. 

she leads them back downstairs, and ducks behind the bar when the bartender isn’t looking. she snatches up an expensive wine bottle from the shelves, reading the label and then giving a satisfied smile. 

‘what are you doing?’ harry questions when she’s joined him again. he’s not really grinning, but he’s not frowning either. he’s halfway smirking.

taylor doesn’t reply, she eyes him dazzlingly, and takes him by the hand to lead him somewhere new. harry’s immediately brought back to the very beginning of 2013, at that. he remembers how she lead him from the elevator to their hotel room, after they’d just devoured the other in both the car and elevator. oh, _and_ in the middle of new york as the ball dropped, as thousands of people watched. harry’s heart rate seems to quicken at the thought.

taylor’s brought him, he realises, into the alleyway just outside, where there’s a silver flight of metal stairs leading up to another building. a yoga place, maybe.

she climbs up and sits in the middle, her heels clanking against the metal. her hand pats the spot next to her as harry stands at the bottom, a simple smile on his face. it’s not blinding like it would’ve been just a few years ago.

harry does what she beckons him to do, however, and he sits. the metal is cool through his pants and on his arse as he does and he wonders how hers must be feeling through that thin expensive silk.

taylor pops the cork on the bottle and it goes flying with a loud _pop_ , she jumps a bit, giggling soon after.

‘you first,’ she says and pushes the bottle towards him. harry chews his lip. he’s already had quite a bit.

he takes the first swig, the liquid cool against his tongue. it slides down his throat, leaving the bitter after taste burning behind his nose in a way that he cringes a little. it earns him a laugh from taylor, who takes the bottle back. she takes her own sip.

‘i got a tattoo the other week,’ she hiccups, looking at the brick wall in front of the stairwell.  
it’s got graffiti all over it, but harry can’t read a word.

‘you did?’ harry asks, and he’s struck dumb nearly, ‘who even are you?’

taylor chuckles at his joke, ‘i _know_. selena went with me. don’t tell my mom or dad.’

harry snorts. like he would.

‘what did you get, where is it?’

‘ _secret_ ,’ taylor sighs, side-eyeing him and taking a long sip of the wine. harry cocks a brow, his eyes roaming down every bare part of her body. he couldn’t see anything.

‘is it on your arse?’

taylor shook her head, giving a sweet giggle, ‘no.’

harry scrunches his eyebrows together and took the bottle from her. he wondered if she were perhaps lying. he wouldn’t know why, but maybe she was.

‘do you ever listen to my music?’ harry croaks, feeling a bit more confident asking her things he wanted to know with all the alcohol in his system. he would have to watch what else he said.

‘um,’ taylor mutters, stretching her legs out more, ‘yeah. sometimes.’

harry doesn’t know how much he believes her, and he watches her carefully. he’s never been incredibly good on knowing when she’s lying. she’s the opposite with him; she pretty much always knows.

‘i like the new album,’ harry tells her and taylor twists her head, grinning.

‘really?’

her eyes look so, so blue, and if harry squints just fractionally, she looks exactly like his twenty-four year old taylor. the one he was secretly dating. the one he was so bloody in love with.

‘yeah, really.’

taylor genuinely smiles, her pink lips stretching over those straight, pearly teeth, ‘thanks.’

her new album really is good. better than the last, in harry’s opinion. _maybe_ even better than 1989. it wasn’t, but he’ll always be bias about that album.

they’re nearly through the whole bottle soon, and harry’s cheeks feel hot from it. he’s also squished a lot closer to taylor, their knees fully touching.  
he doesn’t mind at all, and that’s how he knows he’s stupid drunk.

‘taylor,’ he says, leaning back onto one of the steps behind him and taylor hums, not in reply exactly.

‘i still love that,’ she says, sighing pleasantly. her eyes are sort of shut, and she leans back too, her shoulder brushing his. he's got a perfect view of her cleavage now and he bites the corner of his lower lip, forcing himself to look away.

‘love what?’ he’s watching her through the corners of his eyes, and he can’t see much of her anymore because the street light has gone off behind them. it’s almost fully dark, apart from the light coming through a few windows.

‘that. tay-lah. say it again.’

harry chuckles, and says her name again, prolonging the “lah”. she grins wickedly, rubbing a hand over her belly and sighing contently.

‘one of the reasons i fell in love with you was because of your accent. joe too.’

that’s how harry knows she’s drunk and whatever this was supposed to be suddenly feels ruined. his smile drops, and he sits up, leaning on his knees.

‘sorry,’ taylor mutters, ‘harry, i’m sorry.’ she sounds so sincere, and harry feels bad.

‘what for?’ he asks, looking over his shoulder because really, she doesn’t have to be sorry. he would prefer if she didn’t talk about loving him or her ex in front of him, but he’s fine. really.

taylor’s lips press together tightly, harry can see that in the dark, ‘do you want the last sip?’ she eventually asks after a long pause, her voice is quieter now, and harry’s grateful she didn’t go into detail over his last question.

‘no. that’s alright. i should go find jeff.’

‘okay.’

there’s that awful, awkward feeling again suddenly. and harry watches taylor stand. he follows her down the steps, gripping the railing tight because he feels like he’s going to fall flat on his face.

when they’re back at the door, leading into the alleyway, taylor suddenly stops and turns on her heel to look at harry. she swallows harshly.

‘would you want to see me again?’ she asks, her voice sort of shaky, it's quickly followed by: ‘if you don’t, that’s okay.’

harry’s silent, and he forgets to actually breathe for a second. he’s so drunk and deep in thought.

‘yeah,’ he says, ‘’course.’

‘are you here for long?’ taylor asks, folding her arms over her chest and harry notices her lose balance for a second. he steadies her by the arm.

‘just till wednesday. when do–’

‘i play rose bowl next friday.’

harry nods, wondering if this is a good idea. probably not, he knows. they’ve been here so many times.

‘monday?’ he asks, and taylor grins for half a second. quickly clearing her throat, then dropping her gaze to the ground.

‘monday,’ she agrees, looking back up and nodding.

monday was only two days away but harry wasn’t sure what he was going to do for two days now.

//

 

monday passed and harry didn’t see taylor.

he sent her a message, but she didn’t reply, and harry thought she could’ve changed her number and forgot to mention it.  
or, they were both drunk when they arranged their meeting, she may have simply forgotten.

it was fine. evangeline came over and cooked dinner with harry. they then had fun, wild sex in his bed and fell asleep with the fan on, ticking quietly above their heads as it spun. it was may so it wasn’t too hot or anything, harry just liked the sound.

harry was on his back half asleep, evangeline curled into his side when his phone started vibrating however, the sound loud against the wood of his bedside table. he reaches over and looks at the caller id, his stomach dropping.

‘hi?’ he answers, sliding from his sheets and padding across the carpet, completely naked.

 _‘hi,’_ taylor replies as harry steps into his en-suite, closing the door behind him. he hasn’t had a midnight call from taylor swift in about four years now. it doesn’t feel that long.

‘are you okay?’ harry asks, putting the toilet seat down and sitting atop it, ‘tay?’

_‘yeah. sorry. i–, sorry. just wanted to apologise for not coming over. for not getting back to you.’_

‘it’s okay.’

_‘please stop being so nice to me. i should’ve called.’_

harry doesn’t speak, instead listening to her breathing for a couple seconds, ‘why didn’t you?’ he asks. taylor sighs from the other line.

_‘i don’t... i don’t know.’_

‘you do.’ harry doesn’t mean to call her out or whatever, because he’s really not mad. but now he just wants to know what the problem is. he wants to see if he can fix it.

 _‘what are you doing?’_ she ignores his comment, and that has harry a little miffed. she’s still classic taylor, he sees.

‘in my bathroom.’ harry can hear evangeline in his bed, moving about and he panics that she’s awake.

_‘did i interrupt something?’_

‘no.’ his voice is noticeably a few decibels quieter and taylor’s suddenly silent. harry squeezes his thigh, still listening out for ev.

 _‘is she there?’_ taylor asks slowly and harry suddenly feels like he’s been caught cheating. his stomach twists.

‘yes,’ he says and for a moment, he wishes she wasn’t.

 _‘i’ll let you go, then,’_ taylor says normally, _‘goodnight, harry.’_

‘taylor, wait–’

_‘i’m sorry i didn’t show up. really.’_

‘it’s fine, tay, please–’

_‘bye, harry.’_

the line cuts off, and harry’s left staring back at his home screen. the taunting number of the time staring back at him.

‘fuck,’ he mutters to himself, and hangs his head. doesn’t matter, he tells himself. doesn’t fucking matter.

//

harry’s just walked backstage after playing a fantastic show in london, it’s one of his last for the tour.

it’s july now and he’s smiling so big his face may split.

‘brilliant fucking show,’ adam says, laughing and giving harry a high five.

harry feels like he could tackle a whole football team right now. or jump off a very high cliff and into the sea. the high he gets after performing is fantastic but borderline dangerous, sometimes.

he’s back in his dressing room when there comes a knock on the door. he was in the middle of trying to open a chocolate protein bar that claire had left around, and he dropped it down immediately, thinking she’d come looking for it.

‘yeah?’ he calls and the head of his security poked his head in.

‘sir, i’ve got someone here to see you.’

‘who?’

‘ah, miss swift.’

harry chews this inside of his mouth, and scratches the back of his neck. shit. fuck.  
okay.

‘uh...’ he mutters, trying to think of what to do.

‘want me to send her off?’

‘no!’ harry shakes his head, ‘no, of course not. send her in, thanks.’

harry very well could’ve had him send her off, and he’d considered it, really. but the thought of taylor waiting in the next hallway, then being asked to leave was so tormenting that it made harry’s heart ache. how could he _possibly_ do that to her?

he tidies quickly, fluttering around the room and smoothing out the cushions on the couch. there is a gentle knock on the door as harry picks up one of his socks and he calls out to her, granting her entrance.

taylor’s face appears in the crack of the door, and she smiles wide, ‘hi.’

‘hey,’ harry smiles back, a genuine smile, ‘what are you doing here?’

they haven’t spoken since that night back in may, so harry’s very shocked that she‘s here right now, standing tall and happy in front of him. her hair is straight down her shoulders, and she got on one of his tour shirts. it’s tucked into a black short skirt, her legs and thighs on full display. his breath hitches at the sight of her.

‘i came to watch the show,’ she grins, folding her arms over her chest, ‘you were fantastic.’

he can’t believe she’s wearing one of his tour shirts, his face printed across her chest and stomach. if she stepped outside the world would see.

‘thank you,’ harry says, and he means it, ‘why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

taylor squeezes her arms a little tighter, her eyes downcast for a second or two. harry’s fingertips begin feeling a little warm.

‘i didn’t know if you’d want to see me. i was going to go straight home after this, but i couldn’t leave without saying hello.’

‘that’s so silly,’ harry says, shaking his head, ‘i always want to see you.’ it’s mostly true.  
taylor has a small smile after he says it.

‘love the outfit,’ she says, and her accent sounds so american tonight, ‘you should let me wear it sometime.'

‘it’s custom gucci,’ harry chuckles, trying not to picture taylor in the pink. it’s got a snake up the left leg, and harry would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of her when he first saw it.

‘think i’d wear it well,’ taylor shrugs and harry stops himself from nodding, from agreeing.  
he’s got a girlfriend — a sick girlfriend — back in his house. he can’t be picturing taylor swift dressed in one his tour suits. he’s already got her in one of the tour shirts and that’s bad enough.

‘have a seat, yeah? i’ll be right back, i just want to change.’

he’s all smelly from the performance and could really use a shower, instead he just goes into the adjacent bathroom in his room and puts on some  
comfortable black pants and tucks a white t-shirt into it. he thanks god for deodorant.

when he’s back out, taylor’s sat in the corner of the red couch, her legs crossed. she’s picked up the magazine that was on the coffee table and is now reading his second rolling stone interview, deep in thought. harry shuffles around awkwardly, not wanting to interrupt.

‘do they always ask about me?’ taylor eventually pipes up, not looking up.

harry clears his throat, ‘sometimes. i always know when it’s coming.’

taylor just grins at that and closes the magazine, her thumb tracing across his lower lip in the photo. harry turns away because he feels like he shouldn’t watch that, feels like he’s intruding on something intimate, almost.

‘i’m really happy you’re happy, harry.’

he _is_ happy. he’s been happy for a while now and hearing taylor say that feels like he’s fallen into an alternate reality. she’s never been able to say that to him before. he’s not sure why.

he sits down with her on the couch, and they play a game of scrabble on the app on his phone.

‘paid twelve pounds for that,’ harry laughs when it’s taylor’s turn and she’s looking down at his phone, her body facing him.

‘doesn’t surprise me,’ taylor giggles, ‘ha! double word score.’ harry likes seeing her smile.

when they’ve finished the game that taylor won, harry’s much closer to her than when they first sat down, and her body is proper facing him, her legs crossed and pointing at him. he wants to put his hand on her knees, he wants to feel her skin.

‘you should come perform with me,’ taylor suggests, and harry can’t tell whether she’s kidding or not, ‘when we’re in the same city next. come on stage with me.’

‘really?’

she nods, slowly. and harry suddenly feels like it’s a trap.

‘we shouldn’t.’

‘probably not. but it’d be fun.’

it would be. it would be fucking incredible. harry hasn’t seen a stadium in a while, and to be in front of one with taylor swift would be just fucking nuts. he chuckles, knowing it’s probably not going to happen. they can dream however.

harry details stories that he knows will make her laugh, and they talk about ed and they talk about niall. taylor asks about one direction and harry avoids the question, dancing around it like he usually does. 

it’s suddenly nearly two am and harry can feel his eyes getting heavy. his driver is still awaiting his signal, but harry doesn’t want to leave just yet. he’s having such a good time, and taylor’s so close to him that he reckons if they stopped talking he could hear the beat of her heart.

‘should go,’ taylor sighs, leaning on her hand, ‘it’s getting late.’

harry nods, looking at the skin of her wrist and blinking blankly for a few moments.

‘thank you for coming.’

‘thanks for not kicking me out,’ taylor grins but harry frowns.

‘why would i– i would never.’

taylor’s quiet and harry’s got his eyes hard on her lips. they’ve always been so red, so naturally. she did have red lipstick on but she’s chewed it all off by this point, so they look that much redder.

‘tay.’

‘mm.’

‘can i kiss you?’

he doesn’t mean to say it, but he can’t fucking stop himself, sometimes. with her.  
taylor sighs, her chest rising and falling.

‘i don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘it’s not,’ harry agrees, ‘please.’

taylor blinks back at him, and harry thinks for a second that she’s going to get up and walk away. but she doesn’t, she leans in closer. carefully. _slowly_. like harry’s going to proper freak out if she’s too quick.

harry’s hand comes up across the sharp of her jaw and taylor’s breath hitches quietly at the first touch of his hand. her face is so cool underneath his touch.

the first touch of her lips against his is so light, and taylor’s got her eyes open. harry’s too busy watching her mouth.

‘harry...’ she breathes against him, and it’s so quiet that harry thinks he’s imagined it.

he kisses harder, his lips fully on hers a moment later. there’s a deep inhale on her part, through her nose and when she’s released it harry’s tongue is swiping across her bottom lip gently.  
he moans so softly, not wanting to scare her away. 

her hand comes up onto his bicep, gripping tight. harry doesn’t want her to let go, not for a second.

taylor ends up on her back, harry between her legs and hovering over her, kissing her hard and quick like the worlds about to end. he’d be alright with it ending like this, he thinks.

she’s got her knees against either side of his hips and harry can’t believe he’s wedged between taylor’s legs again. it’s been so long. _too_ long.

‘god, harry,’ taylor whines as he kisses her neck, ‘i’ve missed you.’

he replies by biting down on her collarbone, and she hisses, squeezing his arse cheek back.

‘can’t believe you’re wearing m’ tour shirt,’ harry mumbles and he untucks it from her skirt, lifting it up and groaning at the sight of her tits in her bra.

‘had it since last month,’ taylor says and gasps when harry’s coaxed a breast from its bra cup. he sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as it hardens and taylor moans, pressing a hand into the back of his hair.

‘fuck,’ she whispers, and harry sucks harder, biting for a second and taylor’s legs jolt underneath him, ‘gentle,’ she gasps and harry’s smiling. almost chuckling. he knows how she likes it. she’s always loved being teased, like this.

he’s biting underneath her other breast when he notices it, and he stops, lifting the side of her bra more to catch proper sight of the ink. she really _did_ get a tattoo.

‘is that–’

‘a dragonfly. yeah,’ she breathes.

it’s so little and pretty. so delicate and _completely_ taylor. harry swipes a thumb over it, where it still feels a little raised.

‘it’s lovely,’ he says and looks up at taylor, who’s biting her lip, ‘this is a painful spot, too.’

she nods, chuckling, ‘fucking hurt.’

harry chuckles and pushes her bra back down. he kisses back up her throat, and his hands begin slipping downwards, under her skirt. she groans when he presses his thumb against her clit through her underwear, rubbing it in circles till her legs are straining and her heads tipping back, ‘jesus christ,’ she gasps and harry grins, pressing harder and faster.

he’s kissing back down the valley of her breasts and over her exposed stomach; full intent on getting her off with his tongue, when taylor suddenly pushes her body up, ‘harry, stop,’ she whispers and harry feels frozen suddenly. he hadn’t meant to cross the line.

‘sorry,’ he says, immediately, and pushes off her, sitting on his arse and wiping a hand down his face, ‘shit, sorry.’

taylor pulls her shirt back down, and fixes her skirt. she folds her arms across her chest.  
harry thanks god his pants are loose and black, he’d gotten so hard, so very quickly.

‘tay, ‘m sorry.’

she shakes her head, clearing her throat, ‘it’s okay. don’t be, i liked that. i want that.’

harry did too, and his whole body is aching for her. he feels eighteen again.

‘i just don’t want another girl to hate me.’

harry presses his lips together. she’s talking about evangeline, and shit, harry completely forgot about her for ten minutes. poor evangeline. back at his place, sick as a dog while he’s here kissing his ex-girlfriend from a million years ago. harry feels horrible.

‘i have to go,’ taylor nods, and harry does too.

they stand at the same time, and harry fixes his pants, brushing down the back of taylor’s skirt for her. he walks her to the door, but before pulling it open, taylor wraps her arms around him, her hands going around his neck. harry hugs back.

they’re quiet, just soft breaths in each other’s ears. and they’re still, because harry knows they’re both full of desire, ready to have the other in a heartbeat. it’s a fragile situation and they mustn’t do anything too hasty.

taylor leaves without another word. just a gentle smile. harry doesn’t say anything either, and it’s so them. not saying anything when they should the most. sex has always been so easy for them, it’s the communication that’s always been the hardest. things haven’t changed, even after all these years.

//

harry’s apartment feels oddly quiet tonight, and he knows why.

he groans loudly as he flops onto his bed, head stuffing in between his pillows. he’s been drinking alone, and he’s had far too much.

when he inhales, he can smell ev’s perfume on his pillow; chanel. it’s strong and flowery, and it’s looming around in his head like a painful reminder.

she’d cried a bit when harry ended it, just a few hours ago. harry did too, in all honesty, and he feels like shit now, because ev’s on a flight back to denmark to see her family, and he’s probably ruined her entire trip.

harry rolls over onto his back and watches the fan above him. it’s on low, spinning slowly and casting off a very light, cool wind. he closes his eyes, and tries to forget lying to evangeline.

 _‘is there someone else?’_ she asked, and harry had swallowed. his blood seemed to stop in his veins for just a second.

_‘no.’_

he’d hadn’t seen taylor since the london show now, and that was two weeks ago, so technically, he wasn’t seeing her. it was worse. he was thinking about her. more than constantly, and ev would’ve picked that up. she had. but she was too sweet to press him on it, and it made things for harry that much harder.

harry checks his phone, to see if ev’s replied to his message. she hasn’t, and he doesn’t expect her too. he just wants her to know he cares about her.

he goes on twitter and stalks a few accounts. he even smiles at a couple of tweets. he flicks over to instagram and taylor’s recent post is immediately at the top of his feed.

she’s in dallas, or was ten hours ago. the post is of her, in her shimmering, silver tour outfit and matching boots. she’s got her hair down, and she’s looking over her shoulder — smiling wide at the camera. harry grins back at it.

**taylorswift: that was fun, dallas! toronto, i’ll see you next!!**

she’s used thirteen star emojis in her caption, and yes, harry counts.

he scrolls through her page for a while, going all the way back into 2012. she unarchived her posts back at the beginning of the year, so now harry is free to scroll through all the way back to when he first met her. he sighs deeply.

he wants to see her, he wants to call her but doesn’t actually want to do the calling. he just misses her so much, and god he wants to finish what they started in his dressing room. he wants his mouth back on hers, he wants to taste her on his tongue. 

he thinks he’ll cause a stir. he’ll call out for her, in a public way because it’s romantic. right?  
he goes on twitter and types out something that he knows will get people started. something he knows we’ll get _her_ started.

**@harry_styles: wish you were right here, right now.**

he turns his phone off as soon it’s posted, and he smiles to himself. giggling and then rolling over onto his side. he may be a little drunk, but he feels exceptionally great about that.

he falls asleep and wakes up the next morning around noon. his face is smooshed into the pillow as he drools.

he’s almost completely forgotten about his tweet, and only remembers when he’s taking a piss. he gasps, then flushes the toilet, the lid smacking down with force. he washes his hands quickly, because he’s not gross, and then sprints to his room, where his phone is still hidden under his second pillow.

his heart is beating rapid as he waits for his phone to turn back on, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting. but there’s no way this has _not_ caused a stir. it may not be an obvious taylor swift lyric, but people will still know. 

opening his twitter, he checks the tweet and his stomach _drops._

 _“haylor”_ the first comment reads and yeah, everyone’s going mad. it’s already got one hundred and fourteen thousand retweets and and three hundred thousand likes. his mentions are full of comments relating to taylor and, shit, he wasn’t expecting this. or maybe he actually was.

his messages come through suddenly, and his publicist is pissed. gemma wants to know what’s going on, and ed’s called him twice. niall’s sent him a dm saying _“u hacked there ahaha”._

he wants to say he is, and he debates deleting the tweet, but the internet is forever and there’s screenshots already on hundreds of people’s phones. he can’t take it back now.

the worst part, however, is that the tweets out there, and there’s no way taylor hasn’t seen it— she’s been mentioned in the tweet at least ten thousand times. but yet, she hasn’t sent him one fucking message. there’s nothing from her, and harry’s eyes start to sting.

he checks her instagram, twitter, and even her facebook to see if she’s cryptically responded.  
she hasn’t. he also checks a taylor swift update account on twitter too because he’s desperate, and there’s nothing. absolutely fucking nothing.

he turns his phone off again, and fucks off for the day. he doesn’t want to think about taylor swift for another moment.

//

she does reply, but it’s not till two days later.  
harry’s in the studio when she sends him two texts, and he almost shits himself, ignoring whatever his producers are saying to stop and read them.

_i think someone needs to change your twitter password, you’ve got a lot of people asking me questions this week, mr styles._

_miss you._

harry’s grinning so wide at that and if someone could capture how he was feeling in a bottle, it’d be used to help fight depression.

he smiles for the rest of the day.

//

it’s the vma’s suddenly, and harry is up for one award — best rock video, and liam’s nominated for best collaboration, so they plan on sitting with the other. truly because they want to, not because they feel like they have to.

harry’s wearing saint laurent, and he thinks he looks pretty great in the suit. it’s black with gold details, his mum helped him pick it.

‘fucking hate red carpets,’ harry hisses to his assistant as he his stylist fixes his hair, ‘is there no way out of this?’

his assistant shakes her head, and hands him his water. he takes a sip before he walks, and then he’s staring back at two hundred cameras.

they yell his name as well as a thousand directions to look and harry knows this is their job but it’s so annoying. he feels like an animal.  
he’s done enough red carpets so he knows what he’s doing — but still.

when that’s done he’s getting lead to his seat, after refusing to do any interviews, and liam’s already there. when they see each other, it’s all big smiles and cheeky laughter.

‘harry,’ he laughs and brings him into a hug, smacking him on the shoulder right after, ‘or should i call you _prince_ harry?’

harry snorts, sitting down in his seat and putting his bottle of water between his legs, ‘king, i reckon. how’s this? bein’ back here.’

liam sits too now, and hums, ‘fucking weird, right? we’re getting so old.’

‘speak for yourself,’ harry laughs, and runs a hand through his hair, ‘how’s bear?’

liam goes into a long story about the little lad. he’s three now and from the photos harry’s seen, he’s a spitting image of his dad. same eyes, same nose, same silly little grin. it makes harry wonder what his kids are going to look like.  
he hopes they get his green eyes, or at least his dimples.

the show’s about to start when the leggy blonde finally takes her seat a few rows down from harry, and he immediately gets goosebumps across his entire body.

‘swifty’s here,’ liam coughs, but he doesn’t look  
over to harry to catch his reaction. why would he anyway?

taylor’s with camila and selena, holding selena’s hand as she sits. harry doesn’t miss selena’s head turn in their direction and then she’s leaning over to taylor to whisper something;  
harry has a vivid flashback to the 2013 vmas. 

‘selena looks fit,’ liam mutters, ‘she’s dating that actor now, yeah? aren’t they engaged?’

harry’s not really paying attention because he’s got his eyes on the back of taylor’s neck, but he nods, humming in response.

they’re on speaking terms now, him and taylor. proper speaking. almost every day when they can. sometimes it’s hour long phone calls, and sometimes it’s texts that go into the night and next morning. they’re friends, he supposes. and for the first time in a very long time, he can say that and mean it. it doesn't feel _too_ weird.

rihanna opens the show wearing green, and receives a standing ovation. harry watches taylor dancing pretty much the whole time, and he notes how much better she is at it. she’s still not great, but she’s improved a lot.

harry wins his award and has to walk past camila, taylor and selena in the aisle, but he only see’s camila’s cheeky smirk.

his acceptance speech is quick, and he keeps it simple because he’s never really been one for fantastic award speeches. not like taylor, who wins three awards and is the ever humble taylor swift, as per usual.

at some point during the last performance of the evening, harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he’s sliding it out to check, eyes still half on the screen as cardi b performs.

_congrats on the award!_  
_knew you’d win. proud!_  
_xx_

‘ooh, taylor, huh?’ liam says, poking his head around, ‘you two friends now or something?’

‘get out of it,’ harry smirks, ‘nosy.’

liam’s smiling and he looks down over at where taylor is, harry elbows him playfully before she notices.

he types back a reply, congratulating her back and then asking if she’ll still be at the afterparty.  
he knows she probably will be, but this is his way of letting her know he wants to see her there.

seconds after he’s sent the message, taylor’s turning her head over her shoulder and locking eyes with him — harry’s breath hitches.  
she nods subtly, a coy smile on her face and harry smirks back. he’ll be seeing her, then.

he does see her and when she hugs him, harry’s hands press into the soft skin of her upper back, his rings cool against her, he’s sure. there’s a few people who are looking at them, and harry knows he needs to keep it light - normal. 

‘rock god, harry styles,’ taylor teases when they’ve stopped hugging. she bites her lip and it’s so seductive, even if she doesn’t mean it to be, ‘did you have a good night?’

he’s had quite a few drinks by this point, and he has a feeling it’s about to get better.

‘i did. you look stunning, tay.’

she smiles pleasantly, taking a sip of her wine, ‘it’s elie saab.’

the sleeveless gown is metallic blue, and hugging around the waist. the neckline is fitting, and comes up to fit tightly around her neck. it’s got cutouts though, so harry can still see the top of her cleavage, he thanks god for both that and the thigh split. the dress is stunning, but so’s she.  
her hair is pulled back out of her face, so harry can see the sharp curve of her jaw. he remembers kissing it, not too long ago.

‘you’re perfect,’ he says with a slight shake of his head and taylor releases a very sharp, very quick sigh. she’s suppressing a smirk and harry knows.

‘you two coming?’ a voice asks, coming up behind harry and when he turns his head it’s selena, her dark hair a curtain down the side of her face, ‘hi, harry,’ she says, more out of politeness than interest, probably.

‘selena, hey.’

‘they’ve got karaoke upstairs,’ she grins, pulling a strand of hair from her sparkly dress and harry spots the engagement ring on her finger, ‘tay, you’ve gotta do britney with me.’

taylor goes pink, cringing for a second, ‘i– okay, alright.’

selena beams and turns on her heel, ‘five minutes!’ she calls and harry doesn’t miss the wink she’s given taylor. he chuckles.

‘of course they have karaoke,’ taylor says, rolling her eyes, ‘only when you and i are in the same vicinity.’

harry’s lips tighten a little bit, because a part of taylor actually looks a little bothered by it. it was _so_ many years ago now, how can these kinds of things still affect them?

‘sorry,’ taylor mutters when she realises how much the mood has been brought down, and she steps forward to touch his arm, where his mermaid tattoo resides, ‘sorry. it’s fine, really. please, tell me you’ll sing too?’

the mischievous look in her eyes has returned, and harry thinks he taught her that look. he remembers how much shit that look would get them into, back in the day. he was so much younger than, so incredibly in love with her.

‘’course,’ he shrugs, ‘reckon liam’ll give it a go, too.’

‘a one direction reunion, sort of,’ she giggles and harry smiles, looking at his feet. just two members missing, he supposes. three, in some people’s eyes, not his, though. not anymore.

taylor throws back another drink before she heads up the stairs, harry close behind with his eyes on her arse. she turns and catches him looking, and harry tries to play it off, eyeing the ceiling. she just laughs, and almost trips on the step.

taylor performs _“toxic”_ with selena, and selena laughs pretty much the whole way through. taylor does too, but she somehow hits almost every note. harry watches from the side, a half smile on his face.

it’s harry’s turn after shawn mendes has a go and harry pulls liam up with him. the crowd scream for a one direction song immediately (taylor especially loud) and then they feel like they have to.

liam shrugs, mouthing _“what makes you beautiful?”_ and harry nods, pushing his hair from his face. he genuinely likes that one, so he’s okay with it. they sing loudly and stupidly and harry‘s smiling so wide.

when he looks out into the crowd of twenty or so celebrities — he pictures one direction’s stadium crowds for just a moment and his body feels empty suddenly, like he’s been drained of all his organs. he doesn’t know who he his... shit, what is he fucking doing?

it’s such an intense feeling that it has him stop singing for a moment, and he catches the eyes of taylor. he watches her grin drop, and her eyebrows scrunch together, like she knows something's wrong. she’s the worried face in the crowd of the happy, and it’s all just a little too much. being here with her and singing with liam. it’s too fucking much.

liam kicks harry lightly with his foot, to get him to start singing again, and though harry feels like he’s left his body, he does; finishing the song flatly and then jumping off the stage to get the fuck out of there.

he can feel himself becoming the person who he so desperately wanted to escape, and when he did, it felt like fucking _freedom_. now who is he? is he stuck halfway? is he jumping in and out between twenty-one year old harry and twenty-six? is he dead — is this his limbo? he feels like he’s been spinning for hours and he goes into a bathroom, leaning over the sink and trying to control his breathing.

he’s so caught in his own head, and he can’t stop shaking. he can’t stop remembering things he doesn’t want to fucking remember. he moved on from those things, he became someone else — someone he _wanted_ to be.

 _‘harry,’_ a voice says, over the noise in his head. a hand is on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly, ‘harry, what’s wrong?’

it’s taylor’s hand and voice, and harry can taste the bile in his throat. why does it have to be her? why after all these years does she have to be here? are they bound to pop up in each other’s lives forever, tormenting the other, teasing the love they’re both waiting to finally stick — but never will?

‘harry, say something, please.’

harry swallows the feeling in his throat, and he decides then and there to never mix drinks again. it fucks with his head too much. she fucks with his head.

‘taylor,’ he sighs, eyes shut, if opens them he’ll see her face in the mirror and he doesn’t want that, ‘taylor, i can’t do this.’

‘do what harry?’ she asks, but harry thinks she’s knows what he means.

‘i can’t... be at award shows. go to afterparty’s, sing one direction songs. i can’t see you — touch you. i’m not that person, anymore.’

it’s quiet, and harry’s too scared to look but he already knows she’s probably mad. hurt. it’s like he can feel it radiating off her.

‘i am not playing this game anymore, harry,’ he hears her say, and her hand comes off his back, ‘i won’t stand here and try to make you want me.’

she doesn't get it. harry spins around at that, too quickly, and his head spins again. he see’s her expression, he’s see’s the moisture in the corner of her eyes and god, he can’t see her cry right now.

‘taylor, i _always_ want you.’ it’s been eight years and he still wants her. that’s the problem here.

taylor takes a shaky inhale of air, and drops her head to the tiled floor. her lips are pressed together, forming their perfect shape. she’s always had the most amazing lips.

‘i used to think we were soulmates,’ she whispers, ‘don’t even really believe in that, i think.’

harry licks between his own lips, ‘even when you were with him?’ she looks up at him shocked, her mouth parted, like he’s just slapped her. he’s not just talking about joe, he’s talking about every guy after him.

‘i don’t think we are, anymore,’ she about growls, the tear in her left eye is getting larger. harry feels horrible.

‘we can’t be friends,’ he swallows, twisting the knife more, ‘we just can’t.’

taylor sniffs and wipes her nose, crossing her arms. he wants to hug her, to reach out and pull her into his body. he wants to hold her until they’re old and grey.

‘fine,’ she says, after a while, ‘if that's what you want.’

he doesn’t want it, he’s never wanted it. but he doesn’t say another word, doesn’t think he can anyway, so taylor turns and leaves — the bathroom door slams behind her.

eighteen year old harry would’ve run after her.  
twenty-one year old harry might’ve.  
twenty-six year old harry doesn’t do anything.

//

harry gets the phone call the next morning, when he’s back at his apartment. it’s still under renovation and it’s creepy, so he jumps when his phone rings early that morning.

‘ed?’ he answers, standing in the kitchen, half naked and a little cold, ‘hey.’

_‘harry, what the fuck are you doing, mate?’_

‘friendly hello,’ harry chuckles and he immediately knows what the call is about, ‘she called you.’

he hasn’t stopped thinking about it all night, even when he was throwing up in his toilet.

 _‘selena called me,’_ ed says and harry groans quietly, _‘you need to go see taylor, now. i mean it. fix it.’_

harry takes a big inhale of breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning against the kitchen counter. he still feels a little drunk and he wants to fall into his bed and never climb out.

‘i can’t. she won’t speak to me, even if i did.’

_‘bullshit. go see her.’_

harry shakes his head, ‘ed, we can’t do this. i can’t be her friend.’

_‘no shit you can’t be friends. ‘m not tellin’ you to go be her friend. you can’t friends because you’re in love with each other you bloody fuckin’ idiot.’_

it’s harsh hearing it from ed’s mouth, and harry kind of feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

‘we don’t–’

_‘yes you fuckin’ do. harry, i’m so tired of this saga. if you don’t go after her now she’s gonna find someone else. she almost did find someone else.’_

‘maybe she should find someone. someone who’s not me. i want her to be happy.’

_‘she’s happiest when she’s with you, mate! and you’re happiest when you’re with her. what are you so fuckin’ afraid of, huh?’_

harry swallows and he’s quiet for a second. it’s like all the equations are coming undone in his head, and it’s almost... simple.

‘i don’t wanna be that harry again. i don’t wanna fuck things up, i don’t wanna hurt anyone. ‘specially her.’

he spent so many years running back and forth, to her, to the band. and now it’s so long later. he’s built a fortress up over his heart; protecting it from those things. now it’s crumbling down and it’s terrifying.

_‘you’re hurting her by not giving it a chance. mate, do you really want to live without her?’_

‘i could do it,’ harry says and leans down on his counter, ‘i was prepared to do it.’

_‘well, now you have the chance to not. c’mon, harry.’_

harry eyes the rose ring on his finger, and he thinks long and hard on what to do.

he was so afraid of falling back in love with her, but he now thinks he never stopped. he never got over her, not fully anyway. he doesn’t think he can go back to that now. maybe it’s okay to let the old harry back in a little...

‘i don’t want to live without her,’ he says, and he feels the fortress crumble completely. it’s gone, and he’s okay. he’s fucking fine because shit...  
he _wants_ her. good fucking lord, he wants her. he’s wanted her since he was eighteen years old, and he’s pretty sure he’ll spend the rest of his life wanting her.

‘ed, shit, have i fucked it forever?’ harry panics and fists his hair.

_‘no. but you need to talk to her. tell her what you never do.’_

‘shit, okay, yeah.’

harry runs up into his room and pulls on a sweater and jeans. he’s left his phone downstairs. so ed’s probably wondering where’s he’s run off to, but harry can’t seem to care right now.

his hair is a mess so he throws it up into a bun and then bolts back down the stairs. he takes the range rover because it’s black and not distinct, and he drives through the early new york traffic down to the other block. he always feels much closer to her in new york.

when he’s out the front of her apartment, he can’t bring himself to step out and he leans on the steering wheel — muttering curses and trying to convince himself to go up.

he can’t do it and he whips out his phone, dialling her number and pressing it to his ear.  
she doesn’t answer the first call, so he waits a minute and tries again, and she answers on one of the last rings. but she doesn’t greet him.

‘taylor,’ he says, his voice sounding deeper than usual, ‘taylor, i’m outside of your apartment.’

she’s quiet but he can hear her breathing, he swallows, ‘tay, please. i’m so, so sorry.’

_‘harry, i just left new york.’_

harry’s heart plummets and he presses his head to his steering wheel, ‘really?’

 _‘yes,’_ she replies and it sounds like she wants to giggle, _‘flying to london in about fifteen minutes.’_

harry sighs and he scratches his temple, ‘fucking great. so i have to do this over the phone?’  
she returns his sigh and harry leans back in his seat, watching a car drive past where he’s parked. 

_‘harry, you don’t have to say anything–’_

‘yes i do. i love you, taylor. always fucking have. i’m not scared of it anymore. i’m not scared of it, i swear.’

 _‘harry, stop. don’t say it over the phone.’_ it's not the first time he's told her he loves her, so it doesn't seem that big of a deal.

‘what do i do then, tay? how do i fix this?’

it’s silent, and harry chews his lip, waiting and wondering what she’ll say. he just wants to make it right. make _them_ right.

‘come to london,’ taylor finally says, ‘meet me in london.’

//

harry meets her after her show, in london.

he doesn’t go to the show, even though he really wants to, but he stays in his house. waiting anxiously, and trying not to overthink everything.

his house feels stale, and he scolds himself for being away for so long.

he makes himself dinner and watches a netflix documentary to keep himself distracted, and it’s when he’s falling asleep on the couch that he finally gets the message from her; letting him know she’s on her way.

he tucks his hair up into a bun and changes his jumper, he was sweating far too much in the other one.

when she’s there, standing in his living room, harry feels like he’s watching the inevitable. this was _always_ going to happen, she was always going to end up back in his house, wearing a hoodie from her tour.

‘did you want a drink?’ harry asks, when it’s a little awkward and she’s got her arms around herself.

‘just a water, please.’

he fills a tall glass up with the filtered tap water and then puts it down on the coffee table, beckoning for her to sit on the couch. 

she sits on the leather and clears her throat, reaching for the water and taking a long sip. harry watches the carpet, a lump forming in the back of his throat.

‘the place looks lovely,’ taylor says, and it’s jarring with how quiet they’ve been, ‘really like it.’

‘thank you,’ harry mutters. he had so much to say this morning, and now he has no fucking idea where to even begin.

‘tay,’ he says and then stops because she looks over at him, legs crossed and tour makeup still on. she’s so shiny and pretty in his place.

‘harry.’

‘i should talk, right? that’s why you’re here, why _i’m_ here.’

taylor nods, and she’s so far away from him on the couch. he scoots closer so his knee is brushing one of hers.

‘i’ve been so afraid of going back to who i was. how i felt. about everything, y’know? the money, the fame, the band... you.’

taylor nods once and then she just listens, eyes fully on him.

‘there’s been one consistency throughout everything though, tay, and that’s... that’s how i feel about you. i’ve always, always loved you. from the sidelines, in the dark, with the silences, through the other guys and girls... i’ve loved you for eight years now.’

‘eight?’ she repeats, and she’s smiling easily. nothing feels too much, in the moment.

‘eight,’ harry nods, ‘i want it to be more. so much more.’

she wiggles closer to him, and puts her hand on his kneecap. it warms instantly with her gentle touch.

‘you’ve always made me so weak,’ she sighs, ‘why you?’

‘why _you?’_ harry asks back and she smiles, brings her hands up to cup his face. his kisses the inside of her wrist, lightly and taylor whimpers quietly.

‘harry,’ she says, and it’s almost completely dark now, the sensor light outside has gone off, so the only light that’s on is coming from the kitchen, around the corner wall.

‘mm?’

‘do you want to be with me?’

harry reaches up and grabs her hand, holding softly and brushing a thumb over the skin between her thumb and index finger.  
it was the same question she’d asked him, years and years ago now. back then he said he didn’t know, but when he thinks about it, he reckons he did. but whatever. it doesn’t matter anymore.  
he knows now what he wants.

_‘yes.’_

//

harry wakes up curled around her, in his bed, completely clothed - they didn't do anything overly passionate.

his neck feels a little sore, and his arm is dead because she’s leaning on it but he doesn’t give a fuck.  
he’s never felt happier.

‘harry,’ taylor breathes suddenly and rolls over in his arms. he kisses her jaw softly.

‘morning, love.’

she smiles and uses her thumb to trace his lower lip like she did on the magazine cover, back in one of his dressing rooms, ‘hi,’ she whispers. 

‘i love you,’ harry says, and it’s never felt easier. never felt more right, and he’s fucking rolling in that.

‘i love you too,’ she grins and kisses him, softly and warmly on the mouth, like they haven’t done it hundreds of times before and she was taking precautions. 

she ends up rolling over and laying on top him, her chest flush against his as he rolls her pants down and slips a couple of fingers inside her. she moans his name like it was meant to come from her mouth.

they have slow, sleepy morning sex and when they’re done harry’s kissing back down the plane of her stomach, ready to get her there once more before she has to leave for the stadium again. he wants her to remember this when she’s on stage tonight, wants her to remember how good he was between her thighs.

she comes against his tongue with a loud yell of his name, and then she’s back against his pillow, panting for air and pressing a hand to her forehead.

harry laughs and she smacks his shoulder, kissing him again before running off to use his shower.

he goes to the show that night, and is spotted by a few fans. it ends up being a thing, but he doesn’t care. he’ll scream to the entire world that’s he’s in love with taylor, if he has to.

taylor technically does scream to the entire world that night that she’s in love with him. she performs _"style"_ on the b stage, and then it’s pretty offical, he supposes. the fans aren’t stupid. everyone knows now, surely.

‘don’t check twitter,’ taylor says when they’re back at hers that night, ‘they’re going crazy.’  
she laughs, and that’s how harry knows they’re so different from who they used to be.  
this would’ve panicked them both, once upon a time, but now it’s okay. they don’t care anymore.

//

ed’s laughter fills the air, and harry’s smiling at him as he licks the cheesecake off one of his fingers, ‘great cake, tay.’

‘it was harry’s idea,’ she chuckles, smiling over at harry.

they’re sat outside at her place in nashville. it’s may again, and it’s never what harry would’ve pictured his next may to look like, last year.

taylor’s got one of the ginger twins on her knees, bouncing him up and down, so he smiles one of his toothless smiles. ed’s got the other, and he’s letting her lick the cream from the cheesecake off his finger.

‘don’t think five month olds are allowed cheesecake, edward,’ harry laughs, rubbing a hand over taylor’s, which is resting on his thigh.

taylor clicks her tongue, ‘you ruin everything!’ she laughs jokingly, and harry’s mouth drops open.

‘rude!’

‘she loves it!’ taylor defends and smiles over at the little girl, ‘don’t you, bubba?’

ed chuckles when his daughter smiles back at her, and god, they’re spitting images of ed. with a hint of cherry to make them even cuter.

‘c’mon then, you two,’ ed says and harry cocks a brow, ‘need to have one so they’ve got a little mate.’

harry snorts and looks over to taylor to catch her reaction. she’s smiling — wide.  
it’s something they’ve already spoken about, of course, but they’re not in too much of a rush. they’re fully aware of taylor’s age, thirty-one now, but she’s still got so much time. it’s happens whenever it happens.

‘maybe,’ taylor says, and she’s not looking at harry, but her grip around his thigh has tightened a little. harry chuckles, running his hand down it again.

‘shit, look at you two. always knew you’d work it out. said it, didn’t i?’ ed’s cocky and he fixes his glasses, his smile was so big and proud that it disturbed how they were sitting.

‘yes, you did. thank you, eddy,’ taylor sighs, passing ed’s son over to harry, ‘gotta pee,’ she whispers to him.

she walks off and harry’s left sitting in front of ed, a shit eating smile on his face.

ed laughs, ‘fuck. eight months, yeah?’

harry nods, fixing the baby in his lap and giving him his hand to chew on, ‘eight.’

it’s been eight months and he and taylor are fine. they’re stable and easy, and just so fucking in love.

ed shakes his head, and harry can see the sheer happiness melting off him as he cuddles his daughter closer. he was always meant to be a dad.

‘you two are gonna make it this time, y’know?’ ed grins, ‘i just know it.’

and harry knows it too.

when taylor’s back from the bathroom, she’s wearing the ring he gave her just a few weeks ago now, and she looks over at him with the same smile she wore when they first met.  
coy, intriguing, _utterly beautiful._  
his heart feels like it melts.

they’re going to be fine, he knows.  
they’re so good at being in love now. they've done it so many times.  
they’re soulmates. they’re going to be fine.


End file.
